Think Positive
by candymacaron
Summary: Merlin Emrys is a lonely landscape architect with a rising career- and a secret. Merlin views HIV positive status as a death sentence for his romantic life. Can his new client (hotshot businessman and single father, Arthur Pendragon), change his views on love?


**Prologue-**

The Doctors mouth twisted, forming shape after contorted shape. Merlin knew the man was speaking, but the visual combined with the doctor's thin mustache left him imagining a mouthy catfish in a lab coat.

_He closed his eyes and listened closer._

Yes, there were words, but they were rushed ugly things. Complex instructions that confused Merlin, causing sweat to bead under his armpits.

"The second test confirms it," said the doctor.

The blue room was rippling. Shifting around Merlin with dizzying dis-focus. Perhaps he _was_ underwater? Drowning?

_Can you drown in revelation?_

"Are you sure?" Merlin heard himself ask, in a horse voice that couldn't possibly be his own.

_Could it?_

"100%," the doctor had replied.

But all Merlin had heard was_; Merlin Emry's, you're only thirty years old, and you've marked yourself for death-_

* * *

Merlin inhaled a full breath, letting the exhale go as a whistle. It was a calming exercise recommended by his therapist. But the deep lungfuls of air never squashed the anxiety that hit when he spoke publicly.

He had no idea why he was such a wreck. It's not like he hadn't done this before. The Green Cities Conference was Merlin's third lecture of the year and the first two were overwhelming successes.

The opening presenter, a representative from the firm organicARCHITECT, was already steeling his nerves with a swig of his flask backstage. The man looked immaculate in pinstripe suit Merlin had spent a better part of the evening admiring. Subtly taking in the tailored vest, crisp white dress shirt, and the sleek seams that framed Gwaine's thighs.

"Want a go, Merlin?" Gwaine said, catching Merlin's eye with a wink as he jangled the flask.

Normally Merlin would have flirted back, or at least taken the drink. But tonight he was too distracted by the army of butterflies thrashing in his stomach.

Gwaine had the stubble chin of a cowboy and the sense of humor of a life long alcoholic. They'd attended similar conferences in the past, and gone out for drinks afterward. But besides a bit of pillow talk and one too many black Russians, nothing had happened between them. Gwaine was great eye candy, but not Merlin's type.

Assuming Merlin _had_ a type anymore. It'd been so long since he'd had a real relationship, he couldn't say_._

"Are you drunk?" Merlin asked, smiling despite himself.

Gwaine replied with his own toothy grin. "Unfortunately not, but there's time yet! Fancy a kiss while I'm sober?"

"What did I tell you last conference?"

"You don't fool around at work events... Load of crap excuse that is! You break my heart Merls, you know that?"

"Heart? Spare me. That's the last thing you're thinking with-"

A low laugh erupted from Gwaine's throat as he shook the hair out of his eyes. "Busted," he said, tucking his flask back into his suit jacket. "Forget my heart then, how about a non-committal tug in the bathroom? I'll make it worthwhile-"

Merlin swallowed and the house lights dimmed. The chatter backstage falling to whispers. He clasped Gwaine on the shoulder. "Better luck next time," he chuckled, making his way to a waiting area where his assistant was already seated.

He took a step backward, broadsiding a refreshment table as it whizzed past. "Shit!" Merlin cried, rubbing a spot on his calf that would surely be bruised by morning. "Just what I needed, a rip in my pants!"

A woman stood from her chair, leaning down to inspect his pant leg. "Don't be a drama queen, it's fine. Why don't you take a seat? Your presentation is sixth in the program, you have plenty of time."

How Freya managed to avoid the stresses that dogged Merlin every conference he would never know. It was like the she was born with calmness genes. Pharmaceutical companies should be bottling her up as an alternative to Valium; they'd make a fortune.

"Nervous?" Freya asked, sitting down again to watching the real time TV monitor. She handed Merlin a water bottle she'd produced like magic from her over-sized purse. "You look a little green-"

Merlin chewed his thumb and sat besides her, glancing at the screen. The first presentation had begun.

_Only four more to go-_

"I'm always nauseous," he replied.

"Maybe you should talk to your doctor about changing your medicine? You have been taking it regularly, haven't you?"

He uncapped the water and let it his sooth his parched throat. He'd been taking a drug cocktail of Truvanda and Sustiva religiously for two years, and it had become as normal as brushing his teeth. Merlin's condition- the routines, medication, and fatigue that accompanied it weren't a secret to Freya. But that didn't mean he enjoyed chitchatting about it in public.

"Yes Mother," Merlin groaned. "You programmed a nightly alert on my phone, samba music, remember?"

"I wanted something you couldn't ignore."

"Mission accomplished. It's highly annoying…"

"Seriously," Freya said. "Do you need anything? You're sure your not-"

"It's not the meds!" he snapped, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Its nerves, plain and simple! I'll feel better when this event is over-"

Freya looked away, pushing a wayward strand of hair behind her ears and making Merlin instantly regret what he'd said. Well, not what he'd said exactly, but the way he'd said it.

How had he managed to luck out with a best friend like Freya? He didn't deserve her kindness. The support of this amazing person who for the past three years helped hold the tattered pieces of him together every time he felt himself unraveling.

He rested a hand on Freya's knee and mumbled, "Look, I'm sorry…"

"It's fine," she said, rubbing her hand over his clenching knuckles. "When this over we'll celebrate. I'll even keep Gwaine at bay if he tries to molest you again."

"Who says I don't want to be molested?"

"Is that so? Should I call him over-"

Merlin let out a snort."Seriously, what would I do without you?"

"Have an ill prepared presentation."

"And be hurling in the bathroom-"

"No puking allowed! It was bad enough when you threw up in that potted plant your first conference-" Before Merlin could object Freya turned him around, adjusting the crooked set of his tie. "You look adorable, Merlin," she beamed; her smile puckering the dimples in her cheeks.

Merlin smiled back in earnest. As much as he was loath to admit it, compliments were milk and honey for his shattered self-esteem. A few more of those and he'd do just fine.

He took another breath, this one feeling lighter and more hopeful than the first.

* * *

"Living spaces in the urban sprawl?"

Merlin jumped at the voice addressing him, mineral water sloshing out of his glass and down the front of his expensive three-piece suit.

"Your lectures theme," the younger man elaborated, taking a paper napkin from underneath his plate of fruit and dabbing at Merlin's soaked shirt. "I read it in the program. Unique. Very you, Merlin."

A pair of familiar grey-blue eyes haunted their way down Merlin's body. Their owners face tweaked with discomfort. Merlin knew Mordred hated crowds, and he'd wondered just what threats his firm had leveled to get him out in public.

"Thanks," Merlin said, taking the napkin hesitantly from Mordred's hand. "I… didn't expect to see you here-"

"Research for work. It was short notice."

Merlin nodded, helping himself to a grape off of his own plate. Mordred looked dapper in a black suit that keenly contrasted his unruly head of hair. The last time Merlin had seen the man, he'd been wearing his street urchin jacket; stained and two sizes too large for his slender build. And later in the evening after pizza and a trip to Merlin's loft, he'd seen Mordred in far less...

Merlin could spot Freya out of the corner of his eye, grimacing as she stood at the bar. If she'd seen him with Mordred, he'd never hear the end of it. Suddenly he felt a little miffed about her being so damned over protective.

"I better go," he sighed, rolling his eyes in the direction of his glowering assistant. "Do you…. um. Want to join us?"

"Considering she hates me, no," Mordred said in a soft monotone.

Relief washed warmly over Merlin. The offer was his bumbling attempt to be polite but the last thing he really wanted was to push Freya and Mordred together. They blended like oil and water, and he didn't have enough band-aids in his briefcase to patch-up their epic catfights.

"Coffee next week?" Mordred whispered, his pale lips tickling Merlin's ear.

"Let me think about it. I'll text you." Merlin replied, thinking how his conversations with Mordred seemed to mirror their sex. Brief, impersonal, and straight to the point.

_Some things never changed._

He finished his plate, dumping it in the trash then set about a rejoining his assistant. But before he'd made it past the chocolate fountain a woman with flawless makeup and coal hair approached him, sliding a business card into his palm. Merlin turned it over in his hands, wondering if she was panning for work. The ivory paper was as smooth as her skin, and embossed with a gold dragon at the center. He ran his fingers over the relief, pausing at the name Morgana Pendragon.

Morgana waited for Merlin to finish reading, then said with a voice sweet enough to charm snakes, "I don't know about you, Mr. Emrys, but I'm sick of hearing rehashed innovations from Europe. When _will_ these bay area architects grow a pair and find a perspective of their own? But, I enjoyed your lecture. It was the only breath of fresh air in this tired excuse of a conference."

Merlin felt a tingle down his spine. This was _the_ Morgana Pendragon talking to him. Complimenting him. Anyone within sniffing distance of the San Francisco design and architecture scene recognized the name, if not the wine colored lipstick, of the most lauded interior designer in the city.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pendragon," he grinned, offering his hand. "I've heard volumes about your work, particularly the redecoration at the St. Francis Hotel. Everyone's been raving about the color palette of the rooms-"

"Call me Morgana," She laughed, with the air of a noble woman entertaining her court. "Then you know I have an ulterior motive in cornering you? I'm here tonight on behalf of a client. He's looking to do a landscaping project at his penthouse. I believe your talents fit that bill."

"I'm flattered," Merlin swallowed. "But right now I only take on corporate projects-"

"You should be, I don't approach just anyone," she said, kissing Merlin once on the cheek. "If you're hesitant about the salary, don't be. Call me next week; we'll schedule lunch with my client. And be quick about it, Merlin. I'm not a woman to be refused."

* * *

"I met a woman."

Merlin's therapist cocked her head to the side, her brown eyebrows arching. "Well, that's a new development. Would you care to elaborate?"

He could feel heat pulse down his neck as he sprawled Mithian's fainting couch. Her therapy office was small and tidy, lacking the clinical ambiance of most professional offices. That wasn't to say his therapist went as far to put her family photo's up, but she had a goldfish named George, and a bookshelf showcasing treasures from her trips abroad.

When he was having a particularly difficult session, Merlin would stare at the carved wooden parrot from Costa Rica and the seashells from Bali, or get up and sprinkle flakes into George's tank. The welcome feeling of the office was one of the things he liked about Mithian. That, and that unlike most people who owned them, she didn't over-water her orchids.

Merlin chuckled, kicking his suede loafers up on the coffee table and helping himself to a mint from a crystal bowl. "No, no, not like _that_!"

"Merlin, feet-"

"Sorry," he mumbled, tucking his legs under the table. "Anyway, If a woman could make me change team's, it'd be someone like Morgana Pendragon. But there's that pesky problem of her having breasts and no penis-"

Mithian's eyes widened. "Morgana Pendragon, the interior designer?"

"You know her?"

"I've yet to meet a person in this city who doesn't," Mithian said, mouth parting slightly. "She worked on the St. Francis Hotel renovation, didn't she? I'm assuming this is a working relationship you've forged with Mrs. Pendragon?"

"She has a client she want's me to do residential landscape project for. If everything works out this could be spectacular career move. The woman's steeped in connections-"

"Merlin, that's great news! Is her client anyone famous?"

"I was too surprised to ask," Merlin shrugged. "With my luck, it'll be a middle aged politician who'll argue with me every step of the way. Still, it feels like something in my life is progressing."

"And your romantic relationships?" The therapist asked, scribbling notes in her moleskin journal. "Any progress there?"

Merlin's first attempts at dating after his diagnosis had been sobering. It wasn't that he couldn't find dates; retaining them was the problem. He'd go out with a cute guy and they'd flirt. Stare wordlessly into each other's eyes over cups of coffee until his date flashed a grin, asking Merlin if he wanted to come back to his place.

That's when the sick feeling would curl Merlin's stomach, because then he _knew_. Knew that before he set foot in his date's apartment, he'd have to come clean about his HIV status.

Merlin's relationships always crashed when it came down to intimacy. Some of his dates would nod as if considering the proposition, but in the end they'd make a lame excuse about being tired and leave. Others would flat out reject him. That was almost better- at least then Merlin didn't sit by his cell with delusion they might call again. He'd even had one man (a handsome tattooed yoga instructor), flee the restaurant after Merlin's admission. Leaving Merlin (and their eighty dollar dinner bill), without so much as a word.

Merlin frowned at the memory, grabbed another handful of the sticky mints and said, "I bumped into Mordred yesterday. He asked me out for coffee."

"I didn't realize you two were on speaking terms again," Mithian replied.

"We haven't been… I haven't seen him in month's. I haven't said yes yet, but its just coffee. It could give us a chance to catch up. Bitch about work and meds, and…" he waved his hand in the air.

"Sleep together?"

Merlin chuckled. Leave it to Mithian to be tactfully direct. "I'll see how it goes."

"Do you think that's healthy for you, Merlin?"

_Of course it isn't_, he thought. But he said, "It's a convenient arrangement for us both."

Mithian rifled through her notes and worried her bottom lip, letting Merlin know she wasn't through with the subject. "Have you visited the support groups I recommended our last session?"

_Ugh_, support groups. The last place Merlin wanted to be! Trapped in a room full of people feeling sorry for their lot- he could do that well enough on his own thank you. He'd gone to a few after his initial diagnosis but found them more depressing then the side affects of his medications.

"I'm…. working up the courage-" he lied.

"It would be a great place to socialize. You keep mentioning that you want to meet new people. Maybe join the dating scene again? I'm not saying you should only date other HIV positive people, I just don't want to see you to compromise your standards by settling for someone you're afraid is you're only choice-"

_Compromise? _What was so bad about compromise? So what if he was more comfortable with a romantic life consisting of porn, romantic comedies forced on him by Freya, and the occasional roll in the sheets with Mordred? He may still have to use protection, but at least he didn't have to worry about infecting the guy.

"I'm sick of talking about this," Merlin snapped. "Can we change the subject?"

"Merlin," Mithian said, sighing as she checked her phone. "I'm here to help you and sometimes that means pushing you out of your comfort zone. My next client will be in any minute, but when you leave today will you _please_ consider what we've discussed this session?"

"Fine," Merlin pouted, going for his third round of mints (despite the fact that his tongue was already tingling from what he'd eaten before). "I'll think about it, but I'm not making promises."

* * *

The client was in his early thirties; a business professional, and his super-safe taste in design seemed to drive Morgana mad. At least, that what Merlin had gathered from their ten minute phone debrief; Morgana arranging an in person meeting with said client the following week.

The fact that their client was rich, filthily so, came to Merlin when Morgana flashed her ID at the doorman of a towering condo; The doorman leading them to a marble paneled elevator with a button that simply read _the penthouse_.

In the absence of levels, it was impossible for Merlin to gauge how many floors up _the penthouse_ was, but the ride was smooth. Once they exited, they were filtered down an opulent hallway, Morgana typing in the security code with a bored familiarity.

The first thing to greet them at the door was just under four feet tall, and dressed head to toe in pink. The little girl stared at them with a wide grin, brushing the balding head of her Barbie doll with a plastic comb. "Auntie Morgana!" she squealed.

Morgana squatted to the child's level (a difficult feat, thought Merlin, in heels that tall), wrapping the golden haired girl into a tender embrace. "How are you doing sweetie?" she cooed.

"Did you bring me a present?"

"You don't get presents every time I come over, Igraine," Morgan said, folding the girl's hand into her own. "Where's your daddy?"

"Upstairs. Gwen is making grilled cheeses… Who's that?" Igraine asked, cradling her doll and staring Merlin with the unapologetic fixation of a child.

"That's Merlin, he works with me -"

"He has big ears!"

Merlin blinked in surprise. He'd expected his interview to be different, but hadn't anticipated the first round of judgments to come from a five year old.

"Igraine!" Morgan snapped. "If you can't say something nice-"

Merlin chuckled, rubbing back of his neck. "It's all right, she doesn't know they're my secret superpower. I can hear through walls and everything with these ears." he winked.

"Really?" Igraine said, azure eyes glistening.

"Yep. But remember, it's a secret."

She nodded, walking with Merlin and Morgana deeper into the penthouse. The layout was a trendy open floor plan, like most of the apartments of Merlin's highbrow clients. But this place put them all to shame.

Natural light spilled from twenty-foot high floor to ceiling windows. The rooms tastefully decorated in warm greys, whites, and masculine blues. It was modern, without being uppity. The darting cartoons on the TV and steaming grilled cheese sandwich at the coffee table telling Merlin the condo was comfortably lived in.

"Igraine, there you are!"

A woman trotted round the corner, breathless. She was young, mid twenties, her curly hair bouncing from the run. A spattering of freckles decorated her dark skin, the cupcake apron she was wearing looking very feminine in comparison to the thick black potholders on her hands.

_Ah. _Merlin thought._ Must be the client's wife._

"Do you have any idea where I found her, Gwen? Do you really let her wander around the house like this?" Morgana said, taking Igraine's little hand and jamming it deep into the woman's clothed palm.

Gwen licked his lips. "She was watching TV just a minute ago-"

"Until she wasn't," Morgana bit. She kissed the girl on the forehead, leading Merlin up the stairs and muttering. "Keep a better eye on her if you know what's good for you!"

Merlin felt a pang of embarrassment for the woman. Surely this couldn't be client's wife if Morgana berated her like that? Maybe she's was the girlfriend…. oh, or better yet, the mistress? Merlin thought with a smirk.

_God. He'd been watching too many period dramas… _

_But wouldn't that be a fun revelation to relay to Freya later..._

When they reached the second story Morgana grabbed a window Merlin could have sworn was a stationary, revealing the hidden entrance to an outdoor roof area, and a glittering 360 view of the skyline only _millions_ could buy.

"Was that our clients daughter?" Merlin asked, trying to hide his astonishment at the view.

"My niece, cute isn't she?"

"A little princess," Merlin said.

It must have been the right answer, because Morgana smiled brightly. "She'd like to think so. Thinks her daddy's king as well," the smile faded. "All girls think that about their daddies, until we learn better."

Something about the tone of Morgana's voice told Merlin now was not the time push things by asking about the "mistress", so he simply nodded, following Morgana until they heard the lapping rhythm of water.

Morgana angled her head, and soon he saw the source of the noise.

An infinity pool glistened in the sun. A liquid illusion, seeming to spill off the edge of the penthouse to water the city bellow it.

A figure was cutting through the water with the loud claps of a front crawl stroke.

Morgana drew to the edge of the pool. As the swimmers right hand clasped the iridescent tiles she pinned it under the heel of her four-inch high Jimmy Choo's. "We had an appointment." Morgana said.

The man's head crested to the surface, water dribbling down his broad shoulders. He shook his blond hair with the playfulness of a puppy after a bath, letting out a guarded laugh and revealing the bluest eyes Merlin had ever seen.

After he'd freed his hand from underneath Morgana's shoe the man said, "I haven't forgotten. According to my clock you're fifteen minutes early. As you can see I'm finishing my laps-"

Morgana took a step back and peered into her purse, checking her phone. "Ten minutes," she replied grudgingly.

"More then enough time for me to get ready." The man pulled himself up from the pool, his movement a ripple of taught muscle.

He stood in front of Morgana, straight backed and dripping. The visual was reminiscent of Botticelli's "Birth of Venus", but in male form. Merlin half expecting a choir to bust into song, and angels to swoop down and drape the glistening body in swaths of silk.

Merlin tried to be professional, but the joke life was playing on him wasn't funny in the least. Morgana had laid a feast in front of a starving man, and there was no way he could resist gawking at this half clothed specimen.

The man's bathing suit was black spandex, tight in all the right places. The cut of the waist riding just bellow his hips to highlighting the delicious V of his lower abdominal muscles. Muscles that screamed things like, _look at how much I work out, _and,_ Lick me_.

But there was something besides the chiseled musculature that intrigued Merlin. It was the polished quality of the man's face. The smooth line of a regal nose with the slightest bump at its slope. And of course, those _phenomenal_ blue eyes. Eyes that seemed older and calmer then the perfect shell that held them.

With a stretch the blond man walked to a lounge chair, grabbing a fluffy towel and drying himself. For a tense, teasing, instant Merlin held the man's attention. Watching with satisfaction as his expression settled to a closed mouthed smile.

When the man spoke for a third time, Merlin's heart rattled like a caged tiger against his ribs.

The thoughts and images that flooded his mind were wrong, on so many levels. This guy had a daughter and a pretty woman hidden downstairs. Not to mention the fact that he was a perspective client.

_And it wasn't polite to think about tongue fucking perspective clients now, was it?_

"Moragana, show our guest to the sun room," The rich voice said, the man wrapping his towel around his waist. "Lunch has already been arranged, please start without me."

Merlin flushed and followed Morgana, shielding his more pressing appetite with a calculated shift of his pockets.

It was an elaborate spread. Hors d'œuvres, champagne, and a Mediterranean main course made all more ridiculous by the presence of a waiter.

_What the hell was this place? The Palace Hotel?_

In ten minutes on the dot their client returned. Morgana was on her second mimosa, Merlin milking his first. He'd found out long ago that drinking in combinations with his meds left him feeling like a zombie, so he never did it in excess.

"Let me formally introduce you two," Morgana smiled, "Arthur Pendragon, Meet Merlin Emry's, owner of Ablion Landscape Architecture."

Arthur sat down on Morgana's left. His hair was still damp, though he'd thrown on a pair of jeans and a white linen shirt. It struck Merlin as an informal outfit for an interview, though a step above swim trunks. Morgana in comparison was a walking billboard of designer brands.

Merlin had also taking the occasion seriously. Waxing his stubborn hair and donning a slim fitting charcoal suit with a skinny tie. Yet, somehow, he still felt under dressed in Arthur's presence...

Arthur reached across the table and shook his hand. He had a lingering grip and soft fingers. But that didn't surprise Merlin; a man like that was a born and bred paper pusher-

"Pleasure to meet you, Arthur Pendragon, CEO of Camelot Ventures. I'm sure you've heard of it." Arthur said, answering his own assumptions.

"I haven't, but I don't really keep tabs on the business world," Merlin replied. "What does a venture capitalist do exactly?"

"I have ownership stakes in the most influential tech companies in California," Arthur said pressing his thumb to his lips. "Basically, I fund good ideas. Utilize my connections to sniff out the next big thing. Often I work with companies who create technology to fill an existing need. Connect them with the right people. Grow them."

"Ah, then were both in the business of growing." Merlin smiled.

"My business is a tad more complex then plants, Merlin. It's a high-risk high return field, but I only get returns."

The cocky tone made Merlin groan inwardly. He should have known better. A man that good looking and loaded was bound to be arrogant."Well, that explains the penthouse," Merlin replied, sipping his drink with a bored smack of his lips.

"It should," Arthur said, staring until Merlin felt he would melt under the fierce scrutiny. "I'm good at what I do, and that tends to get me what I want-"

Morgana rolled her eyes, elbowing Arthur's stomach. "Would you like to see Merlin's portfolio now?"

Merlin used the lull to unzip his portfolio from its black sheath, positioning it in front of Arthur. He watched with bated breath as his client skimmed the pages and media clippings. Every now and again Merlin would pause to explain a project in greater detail, but it was hard to tell the impression he was making. The man was irritatingly silent, nodding at Merlin's comments between bites of food.

And _staring_.

"So you're a landscape designer?" Arthur said.

"Landscape architect," Merlin corrected.

"I don't understand, what's the difference?"

"Landscape designers aren't licensed. I have a degree."

"You seem to do a lot of corporate projects..."

"I like incorporating greenery into office spaces. Makes me feel like I'm breathing life into them."

"I'm sure the recognition and fat paychecks don't hurt either," Arthur quipped. "It say's on your resume you worked on The Osher Living Roof, for the California Academy of Sciences in 2007? That's a pretty impressive project-"

"I dipped my hands in it. I was an intern at the time for Rana Creek Living Architecture, they were consultants for the project."

"An Intern?" Arthur said, his eyes rolling. "So you brought your boss coffee and did the grunt work?"

"Something like that," Merlin admitted with a shallow blush. "But for a student focusing on ecological design it was a valuable learning experience."

"So, Merlin, I'm looking to turn everything to the right of my pool into a garden space for my daughter, and an outdoor entertaining area for clients. Morgana thinks its good PR for me to choose an Eco-friendly design, native plants, all that bullshit trending these days."

Morgana groaned low at her brother, the fall of her eyebrows giving Merlin the impression she'd had hard words with Arthur on the subject weeks before she'd ever handed Merlin her card.

It made Merlin feel like a sacrificial lamb.

"Bullshit isn't my area of expertise," Merlin smiled, carding his hands together. "But if you're looking for someone familiar with the native flora, I'm your man."

Arthur flipped back to a page in the portfolio, studying it like a textbook. "Can you do something like this," he said, pointing to the page. "I've had a nagging request for flowers, that design seems to fit the bill."

"Let me guess, your girlfriend?" Merlin laughed softly.

Arthur threw a horrified stare at his sister, his hands white knuckling the table. "Who told you I have a _girlfriend_?"

Merlin felt his face paling, his mouth going dry. "You don't have a wedding ring. And the woman I saw with your daughter…"

_Oh god. Did he really admit he'd noticed Arthur didn't have a ring?_

"That is Igraine's nanny," Arthur snapped. "You really haven't done any research on me, have you? Don't you feel inept knowing nothing in advance about your clients?"

"I've noticed that you're about my age," Merlin said, trying his best to hide the lump of embarrassment now choking his throat.

"A superficial observation."

"My job is to consider the superficial as well as the-"

"Shame," Arthur interrupted, scratching his chin and glaring at Merlin as if he were an itch he couldn't quite satisfy. "And here I was thinking there may be more to you than just pretty face. My mistake."

_Pretty? _

_Did he just insult me? _

Suddenly Merlin was very eager to get this consultation the hell over with.

"I've also noticed that you're brisk," Merlin said, his jaw tightening. "And you seem too self absorbed to follow through with the maintenance required for the intensive roof plan you pointed out. If you want that design, I'm going to have to go home tonight, drink a load of coffee, and re-tool it to be an extensive roof plan with lighter vegetation. And, seeing as you have a massive ego, I'll have to lie to you about why I've made the changes when I bring it back so you won't throw a tantrum at me."

Arthur's lip twitched.

Morgana finished her second mimosa in jittery thrust.

_Shit_.

He'd just stuck his foot in his mouth in front of a new client. Not just any new client, Morgana Pendragon's _brother_. A client with enough income to keep him in business for centuries by the look of his cutlery-

"And," Merlin added, because at this point if he was going to get fucked, he might as well go for bareback, "You have the bad habit of staring at me when you think I'm not looking. Or is that too superficial of an observation for you, Mr. Pendragon?"

He watched as Morgana creaked back in her chair, looking determined not to burst into laughter.

The pause in conversation made everyone hold their breath.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Arthur let out a clipped laugh himself. "You've got ball's, Merlin, I'll give you that much. You start work for me on Monday. 10am, sharp," he said, handing Merlin back his portfolio.

Their fingers touched in the pass over, and Merlin blushed from the contact, something that was as unexpected as it was reflexive. "You won't be disappointed Mr. Pendragon," he said.

"We'll see," Arthur smirked back.

* * *

**And that concludes the first chapter of this new little fic. My apologies now for the lack of beta, I'm still eagerly awaiting her return. :)**

**This story is a little different from my previous works, and has required more research on my part. It's a bit clipped, as my goal is to make it conclude in 4 or 5 chapters. Also Merlin and Arthur are older, which is something I've wanted to experiment with for some time. I hope it's working so far? :P**

**If you've given it a read, even a small word of feedback would be greatly appreciated!**


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